The Dead in Their Vaulted Arches (Flavia de Luce, #6)

by Alan Bradley

“And have you, also, acquired a taste for pheasant sandwiches, young lady?” Those words! Those exact words! I had heard them before! No—not heard them—seen them!

My mouth tasted as if a farmer had stored turnips in it while I slept.

From this day forward, much will be expected of you. Much has already been given to you. In many ways, your training has already begun.”

All the sober words of John and Job and Timothy could not put Harriet de Luce together again, and I could only hope that our Lord Jesus Christ would have better luck resurrecting my mother than I had had.

Light and heat: That was what it was all about. The secret of the stars. But when you came right down to it, light was energy, and so was heat. So energy, when you stopped to think about it, was the Grand Panjandrum: the be-all and the end-all, the root of all things.

“What are we going to do, Dogger?” It seemed a reasonable question. After all he had been through, surely Dogger knew something of hopeless situations. “We shall wait upon tomorrow,” he said. “But—what if tomorrow is worse than today?” “Then we shall wait upon the day after tomorrow.” “And so forth?” I asked. “And so forth,” Dogger said.